


On the Wrong Foot

by Dream_edge



Series: How Two Idiots Fell in Love and Saved the World [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Slytherin!Merlin, This turned into a right monster, gryffindor!arthur
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_edge/pseuds/Dream_edge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is the Gryffindor son of pureblood Uther Pendragon. Emrys is a muggleborn Slytherin without a first name. Naturally, they despise each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sorting

    The Great Hall of Hogwarts was a gorgeous place. The banners of the four Houses hung proudly above their tables, lit and surrounded by countless floating candles. Arthur Pendragon could not attest to any of it. He had eyes for nothing but the tattered old hat Professor McGonagall had placed on top a stool.  
     
    The Sorting Hat. He’d heard tales; Uther had little patience for tradition when preparation would serve better. He’d been told, several times since his letter had come, how the Hat could see into one’s head, how it whispered into the ear in a voice no one else could hear. Arthur had enjoyed the tales, though they were cautionary, though Uther spoke firmly and with no poetry or dramatics. Arthur enjoyed every story of Hogwarts, now that the school was no longer a distant impossibility.  
  
    The Hat was larger than he’d imagined and the walk to it far longer.  
  
    There was a call for “Boot, Terry”. A boy with shaking hands pushed past him, shuffled to the Hat with his head ducked. Arthur watched him eventually scurry off for Ravenclaw and compulsively straightened his robes. His own hands were shaking. He held them in front of him; they looked still, though they didn’t feel it. He hoped he didn’t look as sick as the short boy with the toad next to him.  
  
    A “Cornfoot, Stephen” ran to Ravenclaw as well, refusing to look at anyone, his neck flushed a flaming scarlet. Arthur briefly wondered if not looking at everyone would help. It wouldn’t, he decided. That many stares had to have a physical weight.  
  
    “Emrys, M.”  
  
    There was a confused silence following the call, broken only by slight shuffling as a boy tried to break out of the crowd. ‘Emrys, M’ was a very small boy with large ears that stuck out from his head. If he noticed his summons was different, he gave no sign of it. His head was thrown back so he could stare at ceiling even as he walked.  
  
    When he sat down, he finally realized he was being watched. The delighted flush on his cheeks deepened with embarrassment before the Hat was placed on his head. It was too big for him and should have slid down onto his nose; however, it remained perched up by his ears. Behind Arthur, someone snickered at the sight.  
  
    There was a silence then; Arthur thought he saw Emrys’ mouth move. Then the Hat spoke: “SLYTHERIN!”  
  
    Emrys cheerfully ran to the Slytherin table, which was clapping quietly, contained. They looked an unpleasant lot at first; then Emrys sat down and faces across the tables warmed briefly in welcome.  
  
    The Sorting continued. The mystery of Emrys’ missing first name was quickly forgotten.  
  
    The sick looking boy with the toad was called soon after. Longbottom paled drastically when his name was called; his first step shook. Arthur wasn’t sure what was more likely in that moment: Longbottom throwing up or Longbottom fainting. Concerned, Arthur briefly snagged the boy’s hand. When he had Longbottom’s attention, he mimed taking a deep breath and straightening. Longbottom mirrored him before moving; though he tripped while walking, he didn’t fall.  
  
    There was, soon after, a call for “Malfoy, Draco” that made him want to whine. He and Malfoy had met once briefly, in passing. It had been... memorable. He had forgotten -willfully denied- they would be in the same year.  
  
    After Malfoy, there weren’t many left. There were twin girls, Patil and Patil, then - _too soon, too soon, at last_ \- “Pendragon, Arthur”.  
  
    His heart stopped, then returned in a roar. He gulped thickly then took his own advice: he once again straightened his robes, took a deep breath, and held his head high. He walked.  
  
    Slytherin or Ravenclaw. For Pendragons, those were the only options. Uther made sure he was aware of it. Arthur, in turn, never said he cared little for books or craftiness. He hoped, distantly, the Hat would find something in him that spoke to those Houses.  
  
    The walk was long, and much too short. As he finally started up the few stairs, Morgana’s words from the train station echoed again in his head. _“I’m sorry Arthur.”_ The words had been whispered against his ear as she hugged him goodbye. _“You’re not going to end up where you want to.”_  
  
    At the time, his thoughts had merely been _I’m going to Hogwarts. Where else have I ever wanted to go?_  
  
    Now, the Hat falling over his eyes, his only thought was _Morgana is never wrong_.  
  
    There was, after a second of darkness, a small voice in his ear, as Uther had promised. “Ah, yes, should have expected you. Just Sorted your other half.”  
  
    “Other half?” Arthur echoed, confused.  
  
    The Hat didn’t appear to pay him any mind. “Let’s see now-quite loyal, oh yes, not afraid of hard work either, are you?”  
     
    “Not Hufflepuff.”  
  
    “Not Hufflepuff? Shame, it would suit you so well.”  
  
    “Ravenclaw.” Arthur muttered.  
  
    “Ravenclaw?” Was the responding echo. “No, young prince. You have nothing of Ravenclaw in you, nor Slytherin either. Best then be GRYFFINDOR!” The last was shouted to the Hall beyond.  
  
    Arthur pulled the Hat off numbly and handed it to Professor McGonagall. The Gryffindors cheered, though several - _more than several, many, too many_ \- looked confused.  
  
    “I’ve heard of the Pendragons, haven’t I?” he heard as he walked.  
  
    “Ai. Death Eaters, the whole of them.” was the reply.  
         
    Arthur flinched and sped up. It was not the only mention of Death Eaters he heard before he finally sat down. Uther had four brothers; all of them were in Azkaban. It haunted their family, nevermind that Uther fled to New Zealand with Ygraine for most of the war.  
  
    He sat down across from Neville Longbottom, who now watched him warily. Arthur ducked his head, kept his eyes firmly on the table. His hands shook where he forced them into his lap; his stomach tied into knots. Nausea pushed at the bottom of his throat. His father was going to be furious.  
  
    He would have to write Uther in the morning and tell him. Or maybe not. Maybe Morgana could tell Uther for him. Uther wouldn’t yell at Morgana, he adored Morgana.  
  
    Why couldn’t Morgana have given him more warning?  
  
    “Potter, Harry!”  
  
    Arthur jumped in surprise and looked up. A small boy, black-haired and bespectacled, was hurrying onto the stool. Silence consumed the Hall after the Hat was placed and everyone held their breathes. Then, booming, “GRYFFINDOR!” The applause was thunderous.  
  
    People were shouting, “We got Potter! We got Potter!” somewhere to his left, and Potter kept getting stopped on his way to shake hands with fellow Gryffindors.  
  
    Arthur met Potter’s eyes as the boy sat down. Poter was flushed and bright-eyed, face spilt in a grin. His gaze was kind. Arthur, timidly, smiled back.  
  
    Across the Great Hall, Merlin sat, content, under the Slytherin Banner. Though no, it was Emrys now, not Merlin. The Deputy Headmistress had sworn not to use his first name when he asked it of her; so far, it seemed the school was doing what it could to hold to that promise.  
  
    It was a relief. His name had been a curse in muggle primary; he doubted it would serve him any better in the wizarding world.  
  
    The last first-year was Sorted finally: a Blaise Zabini to Slytherin. Merlin echoed the cheering of his table, polite and reserved though it was.  
  
    The man he was sure was Headmaster Dumbledore from his ‘Hogwarts, a History’ book stood. He beamed down at the students, as if nothing pleased him more than seeing them. “Welcome!” he said. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say  few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”  
  
    Amidst the claps and cheers from the rest of the Hall, Merlin could do little more than stare. The Slytherin table clapped politely but nothing more, which was comforting. “Is he-?”  
  
    Merlin cut himself off when a shimmer of magic fell over the table. When it vanished an eyeblink later, food had taken its place. Merlin tried not to gap at it all, though it was difficult; the table at home had never been absent food, but there were days when it went lean.  
  
    “Dumbledore is quite mad.” An older boy grunted in response to his half question. He wore a badge declaring him a prefect. “That does not mean he isn’t dangerous.” The prefect watched him with dark brown eyes. “I’m Horvich.”  
  
    “Emrys.” he returned, grateful for only being given one name. It made giving just his last name less awkward. Horvich nodded, then said nothing else.  
  
    It suited Merlin just fine. He was constantly distracted now without the Sorting to hold his attention. There was simply so much to look at. He used to wile away empty hours at home playing with his magic, seeing what would happen if he twisted it into one shape or another. Hogwarts, though, was more than a child’s clumsy weavings. Hogwarts shone like a tapestry; the magic old and deep, curling around and over and into the stones. A piece of act centuries in the making.  
  
    Merlin’s hands twitched with the urge to try to copy the spell on the ceiling, see if he could make even a passing attempt at the intricate knots. But no, that wasn’t how wizards did magic. Wizards used wands and spells. He wasn’t going to rely on kid’s tricks; he was going to do this right.  
  
    At last, even the desserts disappeared with another shimmer of magic. Dumbledore rose to his feet and the Hall fell silent. Merlin listened attentively to the start-of-term notices. When the Headmaster ended with a warning against entering the third floor corridor on pain of death, Merlin laughed. He was one of the few who did.  
  
    “Gryffindors.” Horvich huffed. “Always with the painful deaths.” Across the table, a blonde third-year girl laughed at Horvich.  
  
    “Wait, that- that was a joke, right” Merlin asked desperately.  
  
    Horvich merely shrugged. “It’s Dumbledore. Who can say”  
  
    Merlin eyed the Headmaster cautiously, thinking over the prefect’s warning that the old man was dangerous. If Dumbledore didn’t want him some place, Merlin decided he was going to stay well away from it.  
  
    Following that was the school song, which Merlin and most of Slytherin grimaced and faked their way through. Then, finally, they were sent off to bed.  
  
    The first-years were led out of the Great Hall by prefects. The Slytherins were led deeper into the castle, Merlin taking care to stay close to Horvich. He had to, or otherwise risk getting lost; his eyes were still focused everywhere but forward. The magics in the hallways weren’t as impressive as what was in the Great Hall but they pulsed with promises of safety and secrecy.  
  
    It all made his own home seem dull in comparison.  
  
    Horvich stopped suddenly, nearly causing Merlin to run into him. However, the older boy apparently expected this and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to steady him. Horvich’s half-smile eased the sound of snickering behind him.  
  
    Merlin watched as he turned to a large portrait on the wall. “Password?” the portrait asked archly.  
  
    “Blood Pride.” the prefect replied.  
  
    Merlin’s eyes widened as the portrait moved aside, revealing an opening in the brickwork. The whole group shuffled through and found themselves in the Slytherin Common Room. The room was made of plain brick with a high-arched ceiling; the furniture was made of a stiff leather; a hazy, greenish light filtered through the windows. The lake, Merlin realized when a dark shape slithered past the window. They were beneath the lake.  
  
    An imposing man was waiting for them in front of the fireplace. Merlin awkwardly settled into a high-backed chair when Horvich nudged him to do so; the rest of his year followed. The man watched them for a nerve-wracking minute with cool black eyes. “My name is Professor Snape.” he said at last, soft and slow. A chill crept down Merlin’s spine. “I am the Head of Slytherin House. Before you retire to bed, there are rules you need to be made aware of.”  
  
    “As Slytherins, you are expected to maintain the reputation and integrity of this House. Low marks will not be tolerated. You are to keep this House out of trouble. If you insist on breaking rules, do not  get caught. This school has reason enough to suspect us of wrong-doing, we need not give them proof.  
  
    “Most importantly of all, if you have an issue with a member of this House, it will stay within this House. Whatever arguments you may have, the other Houses are not to know of it. We present a united front; it is how we survive. Keep these rules in mind as you conduct yourself over the years.  
  
    “In the following week, I will speak with each of you individually to better explain what is expected of you as a Slytherin and what you should expect of you education in the coming years. Until then, you are dismissed.” Professor Snape’s expression softened then. “Sleep well.” he added, not unkindly.  
  
    They were led then to a round room with several beds, made up with green sheets. Merlin saw his trunk had already been placed at the bottom of the far left bed. He moved over to it and quickly changed into his pajamas before crawling into bed. He stared out the window for a long time, thinking that sometimes he could see something move outside in the lake.  
  
    _“Keep it safe.”_ his mother used to say, had said since his magic has first manifested. _Not anymore_ , he thought privately.  
  
    Merlin didn’t notice the way his year-mates watched him, sneering.


	2. A Few New Friends

Arthur’s first night at Hogwarts was spent hiding behind the bright red curtains of his bed, so he didn’t have to see how the other two purebloods watched him suspiciously. He listened as the other boys prepared for bed, talking energetically about the feast, but he didn’t join in. He fell asleep to the redhead, Weasley, complaining about his rat and the Gryffindor red burned behind his eyes. He dreamt of knights fighting, decked in red, dragons on their backs. When he woke, all he remembered was the color.

Upon finding he was the first of his year awake, Arthur hurriedly escaped to the Great Hall. Several of the older years were already there, catching up with friends between bites. Arthur sat down a ways away from the others and slowly loaded his plate with food. He ate in silence as the rest of his Hall slowly filled up.

His solitude was broken by Neville Longbottom, of all people. Arthur looked up when the other boy purposely cleared his throat and found Longbottom shuffling nervously on the other side of the table. “I-ah… thank you.” Longbottom stuttered out, apropos of nothing. Arthur squinted at him in confusion. “For, for yesterday. The Sorting?  Would have tripped right on my face if you hadn’t made me calm down.”

“Oh.” Arthur said simply, wasn’t sure what else to say.

Neville continued to hover for a minute, then abruptly took a seat across from him. “I’m Neville Longbottom.” He said, and held out his hand.

Arthur stared at him for a minute then finally took Neville’s hand. “Arthur Pendragon.”

“Pleasure.” Neville said brightly.

Arthur returned to eating, watching the other boy curiously. It was an odd change from last night, especially considering Arthur knew and understood why Neville had been so cautious when he’d heard Arthur’s last name. Uther may not have given any gory details, but he made sure both his children were aware of just why their uncles were occupying cells in Azkaban. Arthur’s oldest uncle had accompanied Bellatrix Lestrange when she’d attacked the Longbottoms. However, if Neville wasn’t going to mention their family’s history, Arthur wasn’t going to either. He wanted as many friends as he could manage.

Owls thundered into the Great Hall then. Arthur froze when he recognized his father’s large Horned Owl, Geoffrey, winging towards him. Arthur’s stomach lunched and he quickly pushed his plate away, not able to even look at the food. Geoffrey landed next to the marmalade and began to pick off the bacon Arthur had pushed aside. Arthur continued to simply stare at the owl.

They both stared at the letter Geoffrey had dropped between them. “Aren’t you going to read the letter?” Neville asked carefully. Arthur didn’t respond. “At least it’s not a Howler?” Neville suggested then.

Arthur made a lackluster agreeing sound but finally picked up the letter. The handwriting inside was Morgana’s, loopy and just a little messy, completely unlike Uther’s. “ _It’s alright, Arthur.”_ The letter read. _“I’ve already told Uther about your Sorting. He’s mad, of course, you know how he is about family traditions. But there haven’t been any talks about disowning you, so stop worrying. Actually Father’s mostly just been really quiet. It’s a little weird. I think he’s still readjusting his world view. Honestly, after all the dares I’ve gotten you to do over the years, I have no idea how this is a surprise to either of you. So, dear brother mine, stop whining. Gryffindor can’t be that bad. Not that I’m planning on joining you in Gryffindor next year, don’t start making assumptions._

_Love, Morgana.”_

The relied made him lightheaded. Arthur pressed his head against the table and focused on taking deep breaths. Morgana was right, once he got past the natural refusal to admit his sister could be right.  Gryffindor wasn’t much of a surprise. Of everything he’d felt during the Sorting, surprise hadn’t been there. Arthur did have a bad habit of accepting Morgana’s dares; when he was seven, he had almost drunk an entire week’s worth of Morgana Dreamless Sleep potion just because she’d dared him to. The only reason he hadn’t was because his father had stopped him. Both of their ears rang for a week after the lecture they’d gotten. _“Don’t be such a Gryffindor, Arthur.”_ His father had said tiredly when he finished yelling. (Uther said that a lot, when he wasn’t too busy worrying over Arthur’s lack of accidental magic.)

Neville called his name, tone concerned. “’M alright.” He assured. “Not getting disowned.”

“Oh. That’s good.” Neville said slowly. Arthur made an agreeing sound, not lifting his head.

“What’s with him?” Arthur heard someone nearby say. They probably thought they were being quieter than they were.

“Oh, ignore him. They say his whole family used to work for You-Know-Who. Wonder his father didn’t get arrested to. Probably paid someone off.” Arthur glanced up through his fringe to find Potter and one of the Weasley twins talking. Next to them, the newest Weasley was busy stuffing food in his face. Potter was watching him, eyes wary now.

Arthur thought about saying something, anything, but Professor McGonagall arrived with their schedules and the moment passed.

“Maybe we should head out now.” Neville suggested, unsure. “I hear first-years always get lost.”

“Sure.” He agreed readily. “Let’s go.”

Neville was right; they got lost. Looking for the Charms classroom, they ended up somewhere near the 4th floor. Arthur groaned as they turned down another dead-end. When they went back, Arthur paused more than a little confused.

“Was that hallway there last time?” Neville whispered. Arthur shook his head.

Hearing voices, Arthur looked around and found a portrait. Several people were gathered inside, all huddled near the frame to watch them and talking excitedly. Arthur breathed deep, hiked his bag further up, and marched towards the portrait. “Excuse me!” he called.

As soon as they realized he was talking to them, most scattered. Three remained, the painting style revealing that the portrait was theirs.  The woman straightened her clothes with a soft cough, while the two knights at her side went stiff. “Yes?” The woman asked, voice a little high.

“Sorry but we’re lost.” Arthur explained. “How do we get to Charms?” he smiled brightly.

“Oh, go that way,” here the portrait pointed left, “until you find Sir Patrick’s portrait. He’ll be happy to direct you further.”

Arthur shared a victorious grin with Neville. “Thanks!”

The portrait curtsied. “It’s no problem, si-Ow!” The woman cut off with a yelp, glaring as one of her guards elbowed her roughly in the side. Arthur backed up until he was level with Neville, watching the portrait unsurely. As the portrait continued to glare, they both fled.

With the portraits helping, they managed to arrive at Charms on time. At that point, Arthur was thoroughly turned off from the portraits. Though they were happy to help, they also _stared_. All of them, even those they didn’t stop to speak to. They stared and they whispered and Arthur swore a few jumped frames to follow him and Neville.

Finally, they collapsed next to each other in the Charms classroom. Oddly, despite getting lost, they were still one of the first ones there. Professor Flitwick was levitating books into stacks as he waited for the classroom to fill.

“Made it.” Neville said, practically to himself, looking surprised. Arthur agreed with the look.

Eventually the classroom filled with the rest of the first-year Gryffindors. Roll call was taken quickly, with the only trouble being Professor Flitwick tumbling off his stack of books when he reached Potter’s name. Once the small professor was settled again, they were told to draw their wands, so they could go over wand movements. Neville huffed but did as asked, staring at his wand morosely. The wand looked oddly old, but well taken care of. “It’s my dad’s.” Neville explained when he saw Arthur looking. “My Gran wants me to use it but it doesn’t really work for me.” Neville glanced at him. “What about you?”

Arthur’s wand was currently wrapped up carefully in his bag, where he didn’t have to worry about damaging it. Arthur loved the wand, though he was aware it made his father very nervous. Ollivander had looked at him for a long moment when Uther took him and Morgana to the wand shop. Arthur had felt uncomfortable practically the whole time they were there, not liking how critically Ollivander examined him. Finally Ollivander had bustled into the back of the shop, worrying Arthur, because he’d been told to expect a lot of measurements. When Ollivander came back, he had been holding Arthur’s current wand. There had been a rush of warmth when Arthur took the wand, immediately followed by an explosion of golden sparks from the wand tip.

Arthur had turned to look at his father, unable to hold back an excited smile. Uther had been pale though, staring at the wand with panicked eyes. _“That wand…That’s elder.”_ Uther had said shakily.

“ _13 ½ inches, elder wood, phoenix tail feather core.”_ Ollivander explained, smiling down at Arthur widely. “ _A most interesting wand, Mr. Pendragon. One with a great destiny ahead, if I had to say._ ” Ollivander had straightened then with a thoughtful expression. “ _Curious, as well. I have found, over the years, that elder wands tend to possess a strong affinity for rowan wands. Just yesterday, I sold a rowan wand to a boy your age._ ”

Arthur pulled the wand out carefully, smiling at the rush of warmth up his arm. “It took forever to find.” He said honestly. “None of the others would respond to me.”

“That’s… that’s elder wood.” Neville whispered, eyes going wide and face ashen.

“Yeah. Ollivander says the saying that elder wands don’t prosper is stupid though.” Arthur said. Ollivander had put it differently when he reassured Uther. Arthur knew the only reason Uther had bought it was because Morgana had said quite firmly that no other wand would respond to Arthur and Morgana was never wrong.

Whatever Neville was going to say in response was cut off by Professor Flitwick calling the class’s attention.

They practiced wand movements for the first part of class, while Professor Flitwick explained how a wrong flick could create an explosion instead of cleaning a room. Neville went slightly green when he heard. The rest of the class was spent practicing a softening charm on bricks. Arthur tried, really, but he couldn’t produce anything more than a slight tingling in his fingers. Arthur kept trying, sometimes hurrying through the incantation and other times slowing down and carefully enunciating each syllable. 

Next to him, Neville wasn’t having much more luck. “ _Spongify.”_ Neville said and thrust his wand at the brick. When nothing happened, Neville glared and repeated the movement. And repeated it again. “We both suck.” Neville muttered morosely.

“Team of losers, that’s us.” Arthur agreed, frowning down at the brick.

Neville tried again, then just started waving his wand at the brick rapidly in frustration. His grip slipped. The handle of Neville’s wand smacked Arthur solidly in the head before clattering to the ground. Arthur jerked then looked over at Neville wildly. Neville shared his wide-eyed look for a minute then, trying to suppress a nonetheless growing grin, raised his hands. “I’m so sorry.” He said, but his voice was full of mirth.

Unable to help it, Arthur started to laugh and clapped a hand to his head. “Ow!” he managed between peals of laughter. Gleefully, Neville descended into laughter. They ignored the glares Granger directed their way, leaning against each other as they struggled to get each other under control. 

 

 

 

Merlin frowned tensely down at his match. He had managed to make it silvery and kind of roundish but it still looked far from a needle. Odd, he was sure he’d gotten the spell weaving right, though he could be wrong. He’d only seen it twice. He’d asked Professor McGonagall to show him the spell again and though she’d done so, the bemused look on her face had stopped him from requesting to see it a third time. He gently probed the match with his wand, watching it spin. The tip was still red.

“Oh, Mr. Emrys. Well done.”

Merlin looked up in surprise to find Professor McGonagall watching him with a pleased smile. “But it’s not finished.” Merlin protested.

“It’s your first try; very few manage even that much so soon. It will come with time.” Professor McGonagall told him kindly. “Five points to Slytherin.” Merlin flushed with pride and smiled widely at her. Professor McGonagall returned it briefly then walked away.

“Uppity mudblood.” Malfoy muttered, disgusted, behind him. Merlin very carefully didn’t react, didn’t turn around or even twitch, like he’d never heard Malfoy to begin with. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard the word passed around by his year-mates, not the first time it was directed at him, and it certainly wasn’t the first-time it had been said in that tone. Merlin didn’t have to know what the word meant to understand it was an insult.

Merlin knew his year-mates didn’t like him; Merlin wasn’t sure he liked them either, despite that they didn’t talk at all. Merlin was used to not having many friends though. He knew how to keep himself busy with class and books.

When they were finally released from class, Merlin quickly scattered off to lunch. While his year-mates didn’t like him, the prefect from the Opening Feast didn’t mind his company terribly much. Horvich had made clear he was available to the first-years if they had any questions and Merlin had been quick to take him up on his offer. Horvich treated him kindly, looked amused at how many questions Merlin could think up in two days.

Merlin sat down next to the prefect in the Great Hall, receiving a brief acknowledging nod from Horvich. After another few minutes, they were joined by Laura, a third-year who Horvich was also fond of. Merlin didn’t eat much; he never had a very big appetite. It caused his mother no end of worrying, though the muggle doctor and Gaius both assured her Merlin was perfectly healthy. So he finished quickly and turned towards Horvich. The older boy met his gaze briefly, already looking amused, and made an inquiring sound.

“What does mudblood mean?”

The humor in Horvich’s eyes fled. Merlin inched backwards on the bench as Horvich gazed at him coldly, face a mask of rage. Laura’s fork clattered against the table in shock. “Where,” Horvich asked slowly, “Did you hear that?”

“Uh…”

“Never mind.” Horvich said, eyes flicking past him to the rest of the first-years. “I know where.” Horvich looked at him again. “Listen to me. Never use that word. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” Merlin agreed.

“Good.” Horvich replied then returned to his meal, scowling down at his food. Laura gave Merlin a tense smile, but didn’t say anything. Uncomfortable, Merlin pulled out his _Magical Theory_ book and read it quietly for the rest of lunch.

 

 

 

Friday finally came. 

Finding classes were easy for Arthur and Neville, helped as they were by various portraits and one ghost who kept trying to shake their hands. Neville looked as unsettled as Arthur felt by it, though since it got them to class on time, they didn’t say anything.

They were both useless at Charms and Transfiguration, or really anything that involved magic. Neville’s wand was contrary; sometimes it listened to him and cast the spell; sometimes it turned his hair blue. Arthur, on the other hand, had a hard time casting in general, sometimes losing his grasp on his magic entirely. It was frustrating, though made easier since they were both terrible.

Astronomy and History of Magic were spent poking each other in the sides to stay awake, and also to annoy each other. Neville excelled at Herbology right from the start, though Arthur managed in it about as well as he did in every other class.

Those in Gryffindor that were aware of the Pendragon’s reputation apparently decided to leave Arthur alone, though he sometimes felt them watching him. Arthur supposed they were checking for signs of him going dark. He and Neville got along great so far, though sometimes it was lonely with only one friend. He hadn’t had any friends besides Morgana before coming to Hogwarts, and she was his sister. He’d hoped for more, but the first-year Gryffindor boys had divided themselves pretty thoroughly. Weasley had grabbed Potter on the train, while Finnigan and Thomas had bonded pretty tightly over their Muggle heritage.

Finnigan and Thomas were nice enough and frequently helped them out a lot in class. Despite that, Arthur had realized they would never be very close. On the other hand, Weasley and Potter had distanced themselves pretty effectively; Weasley kept glaring at him, so they’d probably taken the twin’s words to heart.

Friday was Potions class, to Arthur’s relief. Neville may be at home with plants, but Arthur had always had a fascination with potions, helped and encouraged by the Healers who used to visit Morgana. With potions he didn’t need to wave his wand around like an idiot, trying to get his magic to respond.

Professor Snape marched into Potions, eyes brisk, serious, and not altogether kind. Arthur shivered when he briefly met that gaze, saw Neville do the same.

Roll call took only a minute, though Snape, like Flitwick, paused at Harry’s name. “Ah, yes.” Snape said softly. “Harry Potter. Our new- _celebrity_.” Arthur grimaced, stomach roiling uneasily at the man’s tone.

Snape moved on, into an honestly glorious speech on potions, but Arthur’ unease stayed with him.

“Potter!” Snape said suddenly. Neville jumped. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Arthur knew that. Arthur _knew that_. It was… um, a sleeping drought, a powerful one. Still thinking, he hesitantly raised his hand. Granger’s hand, to no one’s surprise, was already in the air.

“I don’t know sir.” Potter said.

Snape sneered. Arthur dug his hand into his desk so he didn’t follow through with his urge to step between them. “Let’s try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

Though Hermione stretched as much as she could without standing, Arthur lowered his. He had no idea what a bezoar was.

Neither, it seemed, did Potter. “I don’t know, sir.” He repeated, sounding frustrated. Across the room, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were shaking with laughter.

“Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh, Potter?” Arthur had to admire Potter’s restraint. Weasley was turning a bright red next to him and Finnigan looked like he wanted to punch Snape. However, Potter remained stone-faced, annoyance only visible in his voice. “What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Granger stood up, hand still raised. Knowing Snape was completely focused on Potter, Arthur tried to catch the other boy’s eyes to tell him the answer. Potter either didn’t see him or was ignoring him. “I don’t know.” Harry repeated again. “I think Hermione does, though why don’t you try her?”

Though a few people laughed, Snape was not pleased. As the professor spun away, Arthur finally caught Potter’s attention and grimaced sympathetically. Potter’s answer was an exaggerated look of annoyed agreement.

Arthur turned back around, tuning in in time to hear instructions to make a boil cure. “Partners?” Neville asked and held out a hand. Arthur shook it with a smile.

Arthur divided his attention between listening to Snape’s critisms and correcting Neville before he could ruin the potion. Neville was abysmal at potions and only got worse whenever Snape walked by. When Snape neared, Neville’s hands started shaking, he began to sweat, and he tried to appear busy and concentrated. Neville did so by picking up whatever was at hand and trying to cut it or add it to the potion, even if the potion called for something else altogether.

Snape critized almost everyone, even chiding the big-eared Slytherin, Emie… something, for being distracted. Arthur thought Emie was distracted a lot. The only one who could do no harm, according to Snape, was Malfoy. As Snape was telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs, Arthur saw Neville pick up the porcupine quills. His hand flashed out, grabbing Neville’s wrist as he went to throw them into the cauldron. “No!” he said forcibly, interrupting Snape.

The class quieted, everyone turning to watch them. Arthur ignored them, focusing on the rapid pulse beneath his fingers, how Neville had gone white. “Neville.” Arthur said calmly; his blood was pounding in his ears but his head felt clear. “Take a deep breath for me and do not. drop. the quills.”

Neville nodded rapidly but his breaths were still coming short and choppy. A glance at Neville’s hand showed white knuckles; Neville had locked up in response to his fear. Knowing Neville wouldn’t respond well to anger, Arthur softened his grip and kept his tone light when he said, “Alright Neville, now we’re going to back up.” Arthur pulled Neville away from the cauldron a few steps. Then, carefully, he took Neville’s hand and pried it open. Halfway through, Neville realized what he was doing and uncurled his fist with a snap. The quills fell harmlessly to the floor. As Arthur bent to pick them up, Snape finally approached.

_Well_ , Arthur thought as Snape snarled at Neville, _at least he waited until Neville dropped the quills._

They lost five points, then class continued. Arthur didn’t have to correct Neville again, mostly because Neville had been scared into not doing anything. There was only one more incident before class ended, from the Slytherin side this time. Emie- no, it was Emsy, wasn’t it- had caused a small explosion in his cauldron. It did nothing more than create some noise and smoke, thankfully. However, the smoke smelled like rotten eggs and lingered even after Snape vanished the smoke. “Stir the potion twice more before adding the snake fangs next time, Emrys.” Snape instructed before whirling away. Emrys nodded, embarrassed blush taking over all of his face.

Arthur blinked down at his potion and wondered how he’d gotten Emsy from Emrys.

They finally climbed out of the dungeons. “I’m terrible.” Neville moaned.

“You’ve got bad nerves, that’s all.” Arthur assured.

“It’s Snape. He’s terrifying. How am I supposed to stay calm when he’s hovering?”

“Well, I could tutor you?” Arthur suggested.

Neville looked over at him, relieved. “Would you? You were so good.”

“If you tutor me in Herbology.”

“Deal.” Neville agreed brightly.

“Hey! Hey! Pen-Arthur!”

Arthur blinked at the shout and turned to find Potter heading towards them quickly, Weasley following slower and not looking very happy. “I wanted to make sure you two were okay.” Potter said when he neared.

“Oh.” Arthur shared a surprised look with Neville briefly. “We’re fine.”

Potter grinned, actually looking relieved. “Oh, that’s good.” He said. “I also want to thank you for trying to help earlier.”

“You noticed?”

“Only after I opened my big mouth.” Potter admitted, grinning sheepishly.

“I thought you were brilliant.” Neville said, making Potter blush.

Arthur cleared his throat, suddenly unsure. “Um, listen, Potter-“

“Harry. Just… Harry, please.” Potter-Harry- requested.

“Right, Harry. I’ve already promised Neville I’d help him study in potions. I can help you too, if you want?”

“We don’t need it.” Weasley grunted, at the same time Harry agreed brightly. “That’d be great!”

Silence descended over the group. Arthur shared an awkward look with Neville as Harry and Weasley stared at each other tensely. “His family worked for You-Know-Who.” Weasley finally snapped.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Neville snapped immediately. Arthur stared at the other boy in surprise. “Just because his family’s evil doesn’t mean Arthur is!”

“Thanks.” Arthur told Neville warmly. “But my parents aren’t evil.” Arthur paused and looked at Harry briefly before he said truthfully, “I can’t say the same for my uncles.”

“Oh well, uncles.” Harry said, with an odd understanding in his voice. “I’ll see you guys at dinner? Me and Ron were going to see Hagrid now that class is over.”

Arthur nodded and watched Harry walk away. Weasley didn’t follow immediately, lingering to glare and tell them, “I was his friend first.”

“Yes.” Arthur agreed readily. “But why would you only want one friend?”

Weasley gapped for a minute, like he was expecting a fight and didn’t know what to do when he didn’t have one. Then he scowled and hurried after Harry.

“You’re still going to be my friend, right?” Neville asked uncertainly.

“Of course, don’t be dumb.” Arthur replied. He punched Neville lightly in the arm and together they walked off to lunch.

 

 

 

“Oi, Emrys.”

Merlin slowly pulled his attention away from the book he was reading to find Anderson standing above him, expression sour.  Anderson was the seventh year male prefect for Slytherin. Most of Merlin’s interactions with the older boy were short, but Anderson spent the duration of each staring at Merlin like an annoying bug he was figuring out how to squash. Merlin liked Anderson about as much as Anderson liked him.

Unfortunately, Slytherin was run like a small fiefdom and Anderson was the current reigning lord. Horvich was next in line in power, thankfully, and wasn’t so much Anderson’s second-in-command as Anderson’s usurper. Merlin had realized quickly that was why Horvich was offering his help to the younger years; he was trying to consolidate allies to take over Slytherin when Anderson graduated. Horvich already seemed to have half of Slytherin quietly behind him.

“Professor Snape wants to see you.” Anderson told him curtly and then immediately left. Merlin thought the older boy seemed like he couldn’t get away fast enough.

Merlin gathered his books together quickly and ran to put it into his chest. With everything carefully put away, Merlin straightened his robes and went to see his head of house.

Merlin knocked lightly on Professor Snape’s office door. “Um, professor, it’s Emrys.”

“Come in.”

Emrys entered the office quickly. Professor Snape was pouring over papers at his desk; without looking up, the professor motioned him to sit. Merlin hurried into his seat and started to fidget nervously with his fingers.

“Merlin Emrys.” Professor Snape finally drawled, looking up at him with cool black eyes. “Quite the unfortunate name. Understandable why you wouldn’t want it used.”

“Ah, yes. Thank you for being so understanding.” Merlin replied.

A brief smile flickered across the professor’s face. “Well, welcome to Hogwarts and Slytherin House, Mr. Emrys. Have you enjoyed the school so far?”

“Oh, it’s been lovely.” It was true; Charms and Transfiguration were great. Anything that required him to cast spells he excelled at. History of Magic, Astronomy, and Herbology were a bit more difficult as he had trouble focusing when the magics in the castle shined so brightly. Potions had been even more difficult; not only was he distracted, he had never been fond of science.

The professors were nice too. Professor Flitwick was a fun teacher, who delighted every time a student managed to get a spell correct. Merlin always managed by at least his third try. While he still hadn’t managed to completely change his match, Professor McGonagall remained a patient, fair teacher that he really enjoyed.

“Good. There are only a few things we need to go over; I know you have homework. Do you remember the rules I told you?”

Merlin nodded. “Good. Keep them in mind. I’m sure you noticed this school isn’t exactly unbiased towards Slytherin, especially the Gryffindors. We as a House have to watch out for each other; it’s the only reason we haven’t been torn apart. As a first-year, the protection of this House is given to you automatically. It will continue to be given as such for three years. If you conduct yourself accordingly, you will be given that protection again. However, if by yours fourth-year, you have proven yourself unable to work within the boundaries this House has set, you will be on your own. Understood?”

“Yes, professor.”

“Now, secondly. You are muggleborn, correct?” Merlin nodded. “This House’s reputation, I’m sorry to say, is not undeserved in some regards. There are those who believe purebloods are vastly superior to muggleborns and most of them are currently in his House. Sadly, they are also the ones in charge. I’ve made it clear that such behavior is not to be directed at Housemates but unfortunately, these beliefs are rather engrained. If a Housemate targets you because of your blood, speak with me immediately. The behavior is unacceptable.”

Merlin nodded in reply, thinking about how Anderson looked at him; how he could take a good guess at what mudblood meant now.

“We’ll speak again next year, when there is better evidence of you skills, to find out where you need help and where your talents are.

“One last word of advice, then you can go. This school has agreed not to use your first name and we will hold to that. However, there will come a time when you will have to use it. If you’re going to run around with such a ridiculous name, do your best to live up to it.”

Once again, Merlin nodded.

“Dismissed.” Professor Snape said. Merlin nodded and headed for the door. He’d just opened it when Snape called him again. “Oh, and Emrys?” The next time you’re in my classroom, you’d do well to pay better attention.”

“Yes sir. Sorry sir.” Merlin muttered and fled, blushing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those curious:
> 
> Elder wood- Wands of elder wood are considered deeply unlucky (though the superstition is baseless) and are difficult to master. It takes a remarkable wizard to hold an elder wand for a long period of time. The rare wizard who finds a match with the elder wand is bound to have a remarkable destiny. Ollivander found that those who hold an elder wand have a strong affinity to those who hold a rowan wand.
> 
> Phoenix tail feather- These cores are capable of the broadest range of magic and show the most initiative, sometimes acting on their own. These cores are incredibly picky, hard to tame and personalize, and are usually hard won.
> 
> (Info taken from Pottermore)


	3. Fight and Flight

Merlin couldn’t find his potions textbook.

Merlin double-checked his bag again, flummoxed. He thought he’d grabbed the book this morning; all his textbooks were kept in a small stack next to his bed, so he could quickly grab them in the morning and get out of his dorm before the others. Merlin pressed his lips into a thin line, trying to remember if he had actually packed it this morning.

He couldn’t really remember; he had been in an even bigger rush than usual that morning. Malfoy had been hovering around his side of the room when Merlin had returned from the bathroom. It had made Merlin nervous. Malfoy didn’t like him, he knew, and the other boy avoided him unless he wanted Merlin to hear whatever Malfoy was calling him that day.

“Lose something, Emrys?”

Merlin looked up from his bag, found Malfoy watching him with a smirk. When he looked around, the rest of Slytherin was mirroring Malfoy. Parkinson was tapping her nails rhythmically on top of her potions text.

Merlin paused, mouth dropping. Parkinson’s textbook was heavily dogeared and was bookmarked by a string. That was _his_ textbook. Merlin looked back at Malfoy. “Give it back.” he ordered.

“Or what?” Malfoy asked snobbishly. “What can you do against all of us?”

“You’d be surprised.” he replied quietly, anger building in his gut. Malfoy’s eyebrows rose in disbelief, face mocking. The sound of footsteps approaching them made Malfoy turn away just as Professor Snape stalked past. The professor paused however, when he saw Merlin’s face.

“Is everything alright Mr Emrys?” Professor Snape asked, making Merlin look up. Professor Snape, and now the whole class, was watching him.

“Nothing, sir.” He answered as evenly as he could. “I’ve just lost my book is all.”

Goyle snickered.

His cheeks flushed with anger, though Merlin refused to react. Snape glanced between his Slytherins briefly before saying cooly. “How unfortunate. Perhaps your House-mates should... help you search.”

No one in Slytherin said anything, but their expressions turned annoyed. “You’ll get it back after class.” Parkinson muttered under her breath sulkily. Merlin didn’t reply.

Class continued. “You’d do well to remember,” Zabini whispered from the station next to him. “We share a dorm.”

Merlin’s stomach dropped. He looked over at Zabini with wide eyes, hands starting to shake. Zabini gazed back coldly.

Merlin snapped his eyes back to his potion, but his hands were shaking too badly for him to properly cut the ingredients. He let the knife clatter noisily on the desk, clenching his fists to hopefully hide the shaking.

Goyle laughed.

Merlin looked up slowly, glaring. When Goyle saw his expression, he abruptly stopped laughing. It caught Malfoy’s attention; the blond glanced at him before looking away dismissively. “Oh relax, Goyle. What can the mudblood do?”

Merlin switched his glare to Malfoy, but the other Slytherin ignored him. His blood burned; not thinking, he bent all of his attention towards Goyle’s cauldron. The flames lept higher suddenly, causing Goyle to scatter backwards with a yelp. The potion quickly began to bubble over then exploded. It was a minute explosion only but th potion splattered all across Goyle. Goyle’s skin immediately turned a botchy red and started to swell. Goyle and, oddly, Malfoy, though he he hadn’t been hit, began screaming.

Professor Snape immediately swept over to them, vanished the potion with a wave of his wand, then ordered Crabbe to escort Goyle to the hospital wing. Merlin stared after the two with horror clawing at his throat. The fire in his blood cooled rapidly.

Had he caused that?

Merlin ducked his head and refused to look anyone in the eye, afraid they could read his guilt on his face. He didn’t even respond to Parkinson when she slipped the book to him, her expression a twisted sneer. He quickly snatched the book back and fled the classroom as quickly as he could without being suspicious.

Merlin hadn’t let his magic lash out like that in years. Not since the first group of bullies from primary had learned that messing with the kid with the dorky ears and name usually ended in disaster for them. Merlin had turned them blue on occasion, had accidentally vanished all their clothing, and once teleported them to the neighborhood over. They’d gotten in trouble for all of it, with no one ever believing the “freaky wizard kid” had caused it. The boys had quickly stopped bothering him.

However, Hunith had been equal parts furious and terrified when she’d learned he’d been using magic. She’d yelled, but she’d been crying when she had. It had been the first time Merlin really understood how much Hunith how afraid Hunith had been of others discovering his magic. Since then, Merlin had learned the feel of his magic in a temper and how to restrain it from lashing out.

He wasn’t supposed to have to have that kind of control here. Afraid, slightly ashamed, Merlin diverted away from the Great Hall and fled to hide in the library, too nauseous to think about eating.

 

 

When Arthur woke up on Monday, there was a notice in the common room saying flying lessons would begin on Thursday with the Slytherins. Arthur stared at the notice for a while, not sure if he was excited for it or not. He hadn’t spent much time on a broom, though he wasn’t sure how he felt about potentially making a fool of himself in front of the Slytherins.

Neville joined him, looking curious. Then he became white and swayed dangerously after reading the notice. “Neville?” Arthur asked worriedly.

Nevile turned to face him, eyes wide. “Do you know how to fly?” he demanded, albeit weakly.

Arthur swallowed down his anxiety and smiled as wide as he could. “I’ve been on a broom before.” he said and decided not to mention he’d never been by himself when he had. Uther hadn’t allowed it of either him or Morgana, no matter how much Morgana wheedled, pouted, and eventually screamed. The only time Uther had allowed them near a broom was with an adult; his father got over-protective about the strangest things.

Neville began looking woozy so Arthur gently took one of his elbows and led him to a chair. “I’ve never even been on a broom before. Gran wouldn’t let me near one.” Neville said despondently, staring at the ground. “I’m going to make a complete fool out of myself.”

“No, you won’t.” Arthur said, shaking his head. “Flying’s simple if you stick to the basics.”

“Really?” a voice asked behind him.

Arthur turned, surprised. Harry was watching him curiously, Weasley behind him. Ever since that first potions lesson, Harry had been much more friendly. Harry sat with them at meals and frequently joined their study sessions. Weasley followed with marked less enthusiasm; he didn’t seem to know what to do with Arthur, since the other Gryffindor obviously wasn’t meeting his expectations.

“Um, yeah.” he replied hesitantly. “Though, Weas- er, Ron...” Harry didn’t seem to understand the animosity between Arthur and Weasley and tended to get angry if they were short with each other. “Ron could probably tell you more.”

Weasley seemed surprised at the comment then began to blush. When Neville and Harry looked at him, however, he started to puff up. “Oh well, I have been flying with my brothers for a while.” Weasley said.

“Any advice?” Neville asked.

“Well, its mostly about balance.”

Arthur saw, from the corner of his eye, Granger perk up and scoot closer to them. She was trying to be subtle about ease-dropping, though she wasn’t managing very well. “That’s right.” He agreed with Weasley and purposely pitched his voice just a little louder, so Granger didn’t have to strain so hard to overhear him. “Basic direction for flying relies on how you shift your weight. If you’ve got really good balance, its easy.”

Neville, who always found something to trip over, doubly so if he was nervous, groaned and collapsed backwards in his seat. “I’m doomed.” he moaned in despair.

Weasley appeared even more boosted by the support. “It’s a lot more complicated once you move past the beginning stuff!” he said enthusiastically. “There’s body strength, coordination, stamina, wind direction and speed, and... Of course, that’s not stuff you really need to worry about if you’re just getting on a broom.” Weasley said, wincing as Neville got paler and paler. “I don’t think they’ll be teaching us anything like that.”

“Thank you, Ron.” Arthur said, slightly amused. Weasley blushed and ducked his head. Arthur grinned and clapped his hand against Neville’s knee. “Don’t worry Neville. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“That’s what you said in Transfiguration last week, just before I turned myself blue.” Neville muttered moodily, but he straightened in his seat.

“Mostly I’m just worried about Malfoy.” Harry said.

Watching Neville pale again and whimper in horror, Arthur had to restrain the urge to thump Harry across the head. He instead settled for glaring at Harry, who looked suddenly sheepish. “Now see what you’ve done.” Arthur sighed.

Ignoring Arthur, Neville said with dumb horror, “He’ll never shut up about it. We’ll never live it down.”

“Well, its not until Thursday.” Harry said with false, forced brightness. “What’s the worse that could happen?”

Neville whimpered again and buried his face in his hands. Even Weasley was looking at Harry in disbelief. “Well done Potter.” Arthur said sarcastically, but he grinned to lighten the blow. Harry grimaced apologetically back at him.

 

 

When Thursday came, Neville’s barn owl swooped into the Great Hall, package clutched tightly in its paws. “It’s a Remembrall!” Neville exclaimed brightly. He showed it to the table at large, grin wide. Arthur made an acknowledging sound, tearing apart a bread roll, focused on breakfast and the upcoming Transfiguration class.

He didn’t tune in until Neville quieted; he glanced over to see Neville focused on his Remembrall intently, eyebrows scrunched together. He saw, over Neville’s shoulder, the unwelcome sight of Malfoy approaching just before Malfoy reached for Neville.

His hand flashed out, sealing around Malfoy’s wrist just before the Slytherin could grab Neville’s Remembrall.

There was a moment of stunned silence across their section of the table just before Harry and Weasley jumped to their feet, their expressions tight with anger. Arthur didn’t acknowledge them, focused on how Malfoy had gone white.

“What’s going on?” Professor McGonagall demanded, descending on them.

“Malfoy tried to take my Remembrall, Professor.” Neville said, clutching the gift to his chest.

“Just wanted to look.” Malfoy muttered, looking uneasy.

Arthur snorted and pushed him away. “Try asking next time.” he ordered then pointedly turned away. He could feel Malfoy’s glare digging into his back, just before the other boy hurried away, followed by Crabbe and Goyle.

“That was so cool!” Neville told him fervently. “I didn’t even see you move!”

“Did you see his face?” Weasley added, grinning hugely. “He looked like he was going to piss himself!” Weasley paused and looked over at him, still smirking. “Not bad, Pendragon.”

Arthur shrugged like it was nothing, but he was smirking too. “You say that like scaring Malfoy’s actually hard.” He replied, pretending modesty.

Weasley laughed in response and they shared a grin. Whatever doubts Weasley had about him seemed to vanish after that; the next thing Arthur knew, Weasley had become Ron, and they were suddenly friends.

 

 

Flying lessons started smartly at 3:30 that afternoon. The Gryffindors trooped outside in a group to the flat lawns on the opposite side of the castle from the Forbidden Forest. Next to Arthur, Neville was practically vibrating out of his skin from nerves.

When Arthur saw the brooms lined up on the ground, he had to strangle a disdainful noise for Neville’s sake. The varnish on the handles had worn off and many of the bristles were splintered and uneven. Arthur had overheard the Weasley twins telling horror stories about how shoddy the brooms were; he was beginning to wonder if there was more truth in those stories than he’d originally assumed.

The Slytherins were already there and the professor, Madam Hooch, soon joined them. They each took a place next to a broom, Arthur ending up between Neville and Harry.

“Stick your right hand over your broom,” Madam Hootch instructed, “and say UP!”

“UP!”

Arthur’s broom immediately launched into his hand with a solid smack, a feat Harry quickly echoed. The two shared excited smiles. On his other side, Neville’s broom didn’t so much as twitch. Not much of a surprise, considering how obviously Neville wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

A few minutes later, they all had their brooms and were mounted, awaiting further instruction. “Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard.” said Madam Hooch. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle- three- two-”

Neville, still anxious despite Arthur’s continued whispered reassurance, pushed off too hard, too soon. Arthur watched his friend sail high into the air, his stomach dropping for every foot Neville rose. “Neville!” he shouted, panicked, right over Madam Hootch.

Twenty feet in the air and Neville looked down. Arthur watched the color drain from his face, watched him gasp, watched him slip and fall down, down-

_“Arresto Momentum!”_

Neville jerked to a stop just over the ground, hung for a minute, then was gently set down. The broomstick continued to rise and float merrily off to the forbidden forest. Arthur followed Madam Hootch as they raced towards Neville. Arthur dropped to his knees next to Neville, who was just sitting up and still looked like he was about to faint. Madam Hootch, who looked as white as Neville, examined him carefully before sitting back with a sound of relief.

“Not a scratch.” she declared, then glanced at where the rest of the class was waiting, the Gryffindors anxious. “Ten points to Slytherin for the excellent spellwork.”

Arthur blinked and looked over at where the Slytherins were clustered. Emrys was standing a step removed from them, wand still clutched tightly. The blue of his eyes were the only color on his face and the hand holding the wand was shaking. Arthur met his gaze, which was skittish and panicked, and nodded gratefully. It took a second, then Emrys steadied and nodded back.

They returned to their lines. Though he was shaking hard, Neville agreed to try again when asked, clutching one hand tightly in Arthur’s robe. He seemed to take strength from it, so Arthur let him. Madam Hootch summoned another broom for him. This time, they were able to rise into the air without issue. Neville waited a few seconds before following them and his broom jerked from side to side minutely with his shaking; Arthur hung close, ready to grab the broom if Neville lost control again.

Madam Hootch led them through easy flying drills, keeping a close eye on them. Arthur, used to another’s weight on a broom, tended to put too much weight behind his turns and nearly sent himself flying in circles on a few occasions. Harry, on the other hand, had no problem in the air and Arthur could see he was frustrated with being held in line for lessons he didn’t need.

When Madam Hootch focused on Patil for a moment, Malfoy flew over to them. “Hello Pendragon, Potter.” he greeted and his smirk set Arthur on edge.

“Go away Malfoy.” Harry ordered, focused forward on Madam Hootch.

Arthur watched Malfoy scowl for a second before his expression smoothed out. “Alright.” Malfoy said, too brightly. Harry twitched at the tone, gaze swinging to Malfoy in suspicion. “I suppose I'll just take this as well.” Malfoy reached into his robes and pulled out a familiar glass sphere.

“My Remembrall!” Neville shouted, aghast. Arthur watched as Neville reached into his own robes, feeling around for it. “I must have dropped it when I fell.” He told Arthur in a distressed whisper.

Harry flew closer. “Give it back Malfoy.” Harry ordered, eyes narrowed.

Arthur glanced towards Madam Hootch, but she was still focused on others, now adjusting Granger’s grip. When he looked back, he could see Ron had flown up behind Malfoy and cornered him. Malfoy seemed to realize this as well and, after faltering briefly, said, “Want it Potter? Go fetch!”

Neville gasped in dismay as Malfoy threw it. Harry, however, immediately wheeled his broom around and chased after it.

“Harry!” Ron shouted, horrified. The whole class turned to watch the Gryffindor race across the lawn. Arthur watched, helpless again, heart in throat and stomach somewhere near his feet, as the Remembrall reached the top of its arc and began to fall.

Harry immediately adjusted, beginning a steep drop towards the ground. The class gasped nearly as one. Harry zoomed past the Remembrall and swung his body around the broom so he could hold out his dominant hand; the Remembrall landed solidly in his grasp. Harry swung himself back around and yanked the broom up sharply, somehow pulling himself out of the dive in time.

Arthur let out a tiny breath as Harry began a lazy circle back up to them, Remembrall raised victoriously in one hand. Bit by bit, Arthur forced himself to relax.

“Harry Potter!” Madam Hootch shouted.

_Uh-oh_ , Arthur thought. Harry’s expression mirrored his thoughts as he stopped rising. Madam Hootch flew down to Potter, lips pressed into a sharp line. The two shared a few words Arthur couldn’t hear, though Harry’s expression grew steadily more desperate and disbelieving.

Finally the class was ordered to the ground and dismissed. Harry, however, was told to stay. Harry looked angry for a long minute, then sighed heavily. “Arthur!” Harry called and tossed him the Remembrall when Arthur met his gaze. Arthur caught it easily and tried to make his expression encouraging. Though Harry nodded and smiled weakly, Arthur didn’t think he managed very well.

“Do you think he’ll get in trouble?” Neville asked nervously when Arthur handed him the Rememberall.

“I’m not sure.” Arthur replied honestly. “We’ll make Malfoy’s life hell if he does.” Neville nodded almost violently in agreement.

 

 

“ _Seeker?_ ” Ron exclaimed that night at dinner. His eyes were blown wide, fork full of food frozen halfway to his mouth. A bit of steak and kidney pie fell back onto his plate unnoticed. Next to him, Harry’s face was split by a grin, though his cheeks were stained pink. “But first years _never_ \- you must be the youngest house player in about-”

“- a century.” Harry agreed.

On the other side of the table, Arthur shared a disbelieving look with Neville. Neville shrugged his shoulders, bemused but still smiling.

While Ron sat gapping at Harry, too amazed to find words, Neville leaned over the table. “I’m really glad you didn’t get in trouble.” He said sincerely. “Thanks for helping me.”

“It was no problem.” Harry replied. “Malfoy’s a git. Besides, you’re a part of this House.”

Fred and George Weasley came then, quickly hurried over to Harry, and immediately pulled him into a talk about Quidditch. Arthur turned away, not quite interested, and noticed Granger buried even deeper into a book than usual. Her eyes were narrowed at the pages intensely; Arthur worried that the pages were going to melt under her scrutiny. He nudged Neville with his elbow. “What’s with her?”

Neville glanced down at Granger briefly before saying in a whisper. “You know that Slytherin boy who saved me when I fell?” he asked. Arthur nodded, glancing briefly towards the Slytherins. Emrys was sitting among the older years, picking slowly at his food. “Well, I heard Granger saying the spell he used is a second-year spell. Apparently, he’s really good at Charms. Like, the best in our year. Or, at least, that’s what I heard. She’s been like that since.”

Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “She thinks she’s gotten upstaged.” he muttered, shaking his head, and returned to his food.

The Weasley twins disappeared. Almost immediately after they’d left, Malfoy appeared, shadowed by Crabbe and Goyle. Arthur stifled the urge to groan in annoyance. Harry’s expression said he was doing the same. “Hello Potter.” Malfoy drawled; Arthur wanted to punch him. “Did you get detention? Or are they just sending you straight back to the muggles?” Malfoy seemed to take just too much pleasure in that thought.

“You’re a lot more confident surrounded by your little friends.” Harry said cooly.

An angry flush stole over Malfoy’s cheeks. “I’d take you on anytime on my own.” Malfoy snapped, glaring. “Tonight, if you want. Wizard’s duel. Wands only- no contact. What’s the-”

“-No.” Arthur cut in when he saw Ron turn a beat red and start to open his mouth. His voice was firm and it made them all stop and look at him.

Malfoy didn’t seem to know what to do for a minute. “What do you mean ‘no’?” Ron’s expression seemed to agree with Malfoy, as much as they would never admit it.

“No duel.” Arthur answered, keeping his voice clear. He held Malfoy’s eyes for a minute then looked down at Harry. “I know how the Malfoys work. This is a trap; he just wants to get you in trouble. He’s not going to show.” He paused briefly, then added with contempt, “He has no honor.”

Malfoy bristled for a second, then cooled down to sneer at him. “I may not have honor, Pendragon, but at least I’m not practically a squib.”

Arthur didn’t even get the time to feel shocked or angry. Neville was on his feet nearly immediately, wand out and pointed. “Take that back.” Neville demanded. His voice wavered but his wand didn’t. Arthur stared up at his friend in shock and he wasn’t the only one. Ron and Harry seemed rooted to their seat in surprise and Crabbe and Goyle just stared.

“Neville...” Arthur breathed, not sure what he wanted to say.

Before he could decide, an older Slytherin walked up behind Malfoy and clapped one hand on his shoulder. “That’s enough.” the Slytherin ordered and gave Malfoy a surprisingly stern look. Arthur noticed with a jolt that the older boy was a prefect. “No need to go proving the idiot Gryffindors right.”

Malfoy glared up at the prefect, though the older boy ignored him. Instead, the prefect focused on Neville. “Put that away kid. Don’t want any trouble.” he said, just before he led Malfoy away, hand still tightly gripping Malfoy’s shoulder. Arthur thought the prefect said something to Malfoy that caused the boy to flinch, but he wasn’t sure.

Neville sat down, looking over at him. “Are you okay?” he asked worriedly.

“I’m fine.” he replied, but he contradicted his words by pushing his plate away and standing. “I’m not hungry any more. I’m going to bed.” He told them and walked away.

Back at the table, the three boys shared a look then quickly followed him.

Arthur had barely settled into bed before Neville threw back the bright red curtains on his bed and jumped in after him. “NEVILLE!” he shouted, surprised. Neville just looked up at him.

“Hey.”

Arthur looked up, found Harry and Ron standing at the edges of his bed, watching him in concern. “You sure you’re okay?” Harry asked.

“Yeah.” he assured, sitting up.

“Malfoy’s an idiot and you shouldn’t listen to him.” Ron said quickly. Arthur smiled in response, did so wider when Neville nodded enthusiastically.

“Um,” Harry hedged and moved closer. “Sorry but what exactly is a squib?”

Arthur sighed heavily but told him. “Well, you know how sometimes muggles can have magical kids? Sometimes the opposite happens. A squib is a non-magical born to a magical family.”

“Purebloods like Malfoy really look down on squibs. To someone like him, that’s a really huge insult.” Neville continued. Then he said, quietly, I told you that first night that my family had thought I was a squib for a while, cause I didn’t show any accidental magic.”

“Why would Malfoy call Arthur a squib?” Harry asked, his nose scrunching up in confusion. “He obviously has magic.”

“I never did accidental magic.” Arthur admitted. “Not once. I suppose, there were rumors.”

“Not one bit of accidental magic?” Ron repeated, surprised. “That’s a little odd, buddy.”

“But it doesn’t matter.” Neville said, practically before Ron had finished. Neville stared at Ron for a minute, until the redhead nodded rapidly. Then he looked back at Arthur with a smile. “Team of losers.” he said quietly and held out his fist.

Arthur snorted but tapped Neville’s fist with his own.

 

 

“You’re supposed to stay out of trouble!” Merlin snarled at Malfoy within the safety of the Slytherin common room. The blond rolled his eyes in response. Malfoy was sprawled across a couch in front of the fire, surrounded by the rest of the first-years. Merlin felt like he was staring down a pride of lions. The irony of the thought wasn’t lost on him, though he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or throw up from fear. “Professor Snape was quite clear. We aren’t supposed to cause trouble.”

Malfoy slid to his feet, took one step closer, putting himself right in Merlin’s face. “No, Emrys. _You’re_ supposed to stay out of trouble. After all, a mudblood like you could never be a _real_ Slytherin.”

Merlin gasped sharply. “You can’t call me that.” he said after a moment. His voice wasn’t as strong as he’d been hoping for.

Malfoy sneered. “What exactly are you going to do to stop me?” the blond demanded. Malfoy leaned even further in and the only thing that kept Merlin from stepping back was sheer, stubborn pride. “Go run off to Snape, or Horvich. It’ll still be just like Zabini said: you need to take a good look at where you sleep at night.”

Merlin shook as Malfoy stepped back, as the other first-years laughed nastily at how white he’d gone. “Run along Emrys.” Malfoy told him with a smirk.

Merlin didn’t look away from them as he stepped back, hands clenched to hide the shaking as much as he could. He retreated to a table as far from the other first-years as he could get, curling up in his seat.

He heard someone settle into the seat behind him but didn’t give it much attention until they called him in a quiet hiss. He turned his head, found a fourth-year girl watching him with a strained smile. “You okay, sweetheart?” she asked.

Merlin nodded.

“That’s good. Just... Just keep your head down, okay? It’s only seven years, then you can run far away from here.” she told him quietly.

“Won’t things change once Horvich is in control?” he asked, remembering the cold rage that filled Horvich’s face when he heard the word ‘mudblood’.

The girl snorted. “Just because they can’t do it openly doesn’t mean they’ll stop.” she muttered bitterly. “And when Horvich leaves, it’ll go back to the way it is. That’s how it always goes.”

The girl looked back at him with concerned brown eyes. “Don’t get in Malfoy’s way, okay? He’s got a lot of power in this House, coming from the family he does.”

Merlin looked back at Malfoy, watched as the group laughed. He didn’t think Malfoy would be quite as powerful as he was if he didn’t have his friends. He didn’t say that, merely nodded in response and tried to make himself as small as possible.


End file.
